I had always felt with Tennyson:
'Thou wilt not leave us in the dust;
Thou _madest_ man, and Thou art _just_.'
But now I was forced to change all this; and for once I uttered a
perfectly orthodox prayer. Slow and distinct came the words, which I
must perforce repeat as slowly, though every one was a bitter pill. I
was made to say that I was entirely mistaken in supposing myself a
Christian (in the 'evangelical' sense); that I had been a fool, a
braggart, a sort of impostor; that my life had been one series of shams
and follies; that I had disgraced my religious profession, etc., etc.,
_ad nauseam_, winding up with the abject declaration that I deserved to
go straight to 'the city of Dis, and the three-headed dog;' and that if
I was spared, it would be 'a miracle of mercy.'
The higher powers must have thought that I had swallowed enough of this
hell-broth; for, at this juncture, the dictation and compulsion suddenly
ceased. I stood upon my feet, no longer a slave. It seemed as if some
grand, calm Ithuriel had touched with his spear-point the venomous toad
that sat by my ear, or the wily serpent that 'held me (enchanted) with
his glittering eye.
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